


Let yourself unwind, get lost in the garden of my mind

by sadwhales



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bickering, Domestic, Eddie Kaspbrak Has a Crisis, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Richie Tozier is Emotional, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwhales/pseuds/sadwhales
Summary: Richie is big and oblivious, Eddie discovers himself.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 42
Kudos: 615





	Let yourself unwind, get lost in the garden of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> For the first time in my life, I sat still long enough to write an actual story, never mind that it's mostly horny nonsense. Who would've thought.
> 
> English isn't my first language, this is unbetaed. In short, I'm kinda nervous and mistakes were probably made!
> 
> Title from the song "Fantasy" by Alina Baraz.

Eddie’s not sure when it starts. He knows when the idea is permanently ingrained in his head, but if after 40 years he knows himself at all, this is just one of the million thoughts he would have been extremely reluctant to give himself permission to even entertain without a firm push in the right direction. And as usual, the push comes in the form of one Richie Tozier.

It’s disgustingly damp in the bedroom, and the sheets have been kicked into an equally disgusting, equally damp lump at their feet. Richie is taking up more space than he needs, stretched on the bed with his long limbs to every direction, somehow succeeding at seeming both obnoxious and adorable. Eddie is plastered across his chest, head tucked under Richie’s chin and arm sprawled across his belly. His face is literally buried in sweaty chest hair – which Richie has a _lot_ , and which Eddie will begrudgingly admit he finds really _sexy_ – and he knows he should be more grossed out, but the most he can muster up is some vague annoyance at the wet, ticklish sensation. Not enough to even start complaining for the familiarity of it. The thing is, it seems like Richie-related things more often than not have the power to turn off the part of Eddie’s brain that worries about bodily fluids drying up in places they most definitely shouldn’t be, or articles of clothing being left wrinkled on the floor for hours at a time. They’re the sort of things over which Eddie could’ve easily worked himself up to a panic attack not too long ago. Eddie thinks that, if anything, is a clear indicator of how he feels about Richie.

Eddie’s frankly lovesick musings are brought to an end when the sweaty, hairy shape under him suddenly grouses from its post-orgasmic slumber and starts to talk.

“What”, Eddie tries to say, but his voice comes out thick and kind of croaky. He clears his throat.

“I said I really like how you fit there”, Richie says, voice also heavy, and squeezes an arm around Eddie’s waist.

Eddie twists his neck up to peek at Richie’s face, which is sporting a familiar, dopey smile. Still, Eddie’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Where the fuck is this coming from?” he says, not unkindly.

Sometimes he thinks Richie still feels like he feels, which is disbelieving and careful about the direction their relationship has taken. And Eddie’s definitely not yet used to the way Richie can be honest and sensitive with him, almost accidentally, with no qualms at all about saying whatever he feels about him. Eddie cherishes it, but it can be scary too, to hear things about yourself you’d _never_ think about yourself. It can be the scariest thing in the world, Eddie thinks, to hear about all the little ways somebody else loves you.

“I just… It’s like you belong right there. You’re like the perfect size for me. You tiny little gremlin.” Richie says this in an impossibly genuine, heartfelt tone, which absolutely does not match with what’s coming out of his mouth.

“Richie, we’ve been fucking over this, I’m not that little- “

Richie barks out a delighted laugh, like this ancient thing Eddie never fails to get agitated over is something charming. “I don’t even mean like- Dude, I’m not trying to make fun of you right now. Just. It’s dumb and you’re gonna laugh at me for saying this, but- “

Richie pauses, and looks down at Eddie like he’s contemplating his next words very carefully, which is rare and sometimes almost alarming.

“I just like looking at us like this”, he starts. “I always feel like we fit together perfectly, like it’s destiny or some shit.” Richie slots his hand over Eddie’s where it’s resting on his belly, the warm palm covering Eddie’s effortlessly. He sounds a bit like he’s ready to cry over this, which would be a very Richie thing to do. Eddie glances down at their hands, something warm and simmering he doesn’t quite recognize settling into his stomach. “That’s what I mean”, Richie says. “You’re just tiny enough for me.”

Eddie presses his lips together to keep from smiling _too_ wide, but he’s sure Richie can hear it in his voice when he says, “You’re a fucking sap, Rich”, and turns over his hand so he can link their fingers together. Richie’s squeezes his hand, chest expanding and breath tickling Eddie’s forehead as he sighs contentedly, and, to his credit, doesn’t cry.

They lay together like that for a minute, basking in the afterglow and each other. When Eddie’s done feeling idiotically happy, and can no longer continue to ignore the cooling air and the rapidly drying sweat on their bodies, he untangles their hands and pokes Richie on the side, partly because he knows how sensitive Richie is in that particular spot, and partly because he still finds he sometimes needs a way to break the overwhelming emotional tension without awkwardness.

Richie gasps and spasms with his whole body. Eddie grins, probably unreasonably smug, and puts his palm on Richie’s neck to tug him closer for a kiss. He presses one on the side of his mouth when Richie goes willingly and leans on his elbow, angling his body towards Eddie. Tenderly, Richie curls a hand around Eddie’s ear and presses his face in close so that his nose digs into Eddie’s cheek and his stubble burns lightly against his chin.

“Don’t think I’m not seeing through your destiny bullshit, right into your weird size fetish thing”, Eddie whispers against Richie’s mouth, and Richie pulls back so suddenly that for a moment Eddie’s hot with worry. _Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, maybe it came across too cruel, maybe I shouldn’t have joked about it-_

But the laugh that is startled out of Richie is loud and bright. He looks incredulous, but not offended. “Weird size fetish thi- How dare you?” he snorts, feigning outrage. “I am trying to be _romantic_ and you only think with your dick! Typical!”

Eddie laughs too when Richie reaches across the bed to shove him lightly and makes a half-hearted attempt to slap Richie’s arm away. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re angelic and pure, I’m a horrible degenerate.”

Richie, still shaking his head and face crinkled with delight, swings his legs over the edge of the bed and bends to raid the underwear drawer for clean boxers. He heads for the bathroom and makes an attempt to keep huffing indignantly at Eddie, but his smile makes it more and more unbelievable by the second.

“I’m sorry for corrupting you!” Eddie shouts after him before he disappears into the bathroom.

They don’t make a habit of squeezing into the shower together, because it’s unfortunately small, but also because when they do, they get very little showering done. Eddie sinks back onto the bed and closes his eyes, listening as the water starts running. It feels good, as it mostly does these days. _I’m really good,_ he thinks and doesn’t spare another thought to weird size fetish thing.

Except when he does.

* * *

It’s a Saturday morning, and Eddie’s in the kitchen, fiddling with his phone by the counter while the coffee drips. Richie’s still in bed, probably asleep, because he’s got the sleep schedule of a college student and Eddie hasn’t yet gotten around to fixing that. And it’s not like he doesn’t keep Richie up from time to time, Eddie thinks with a mix of fondness and offhanded arousal that makes him feel a bit like a college student himself, he’s _definitely_ not complaining then.

He’s just in the process of pouring a second cup and contemplating of returning to bed and waking Richie up with a kiss and the smell of coffee (Eddie’s not yet mentally at the point of considering _eating_ in bed, and he’s not sure if he ever will be, but coffee is something he can get behind), when he hears the soft footsteps heading for the kitchen. Eddie sets the pot back down, his back still to the doorway when Richie enters.

“Mornin’”, Richie croaks from the entrance.

“Hi”, Eddie says, grabbing the cups and turning around to offer Richie one, but catches the sight of him and falters.

The thing is, Richie is always slightly ( _enormously_ ) disoriented upon waking up and seems to have trouble even opening his eyes properly before a cup of coffee. Right now, he’s succeeded at scrambling out of bed and pulling on supposedly clean boxers and a t-shirt. What tells about the amount of brain power he has at his disposal at the moment, however, is that the t-shirt he has come across and by some miracle pulled on without too much trouble, is _Eddie’s_.

It should be funny, Eddie thinks faintly, that Richie is so groggy he’s squeezed himself into a t-shirt that’s clearly a couple of sizes too small for him. It _is_ funny, kind of. Obviously, they’re past the point in their relationship where sharing clothes is a big deal, but it’s always Eddie who’s borrowing hoodies and tacky t-shirts, precisely because of _this_. His clothes don’t fit Richie _at all_.

Eddie should be annoyed that Richie’s without a doubt stretching the seams of his nice, soft, peach-colored t-shirt. He should be bitching about Richie putting it on his gross, sleep-sweaty body. He should, at the least, be making fun of how poorly it fits him, like it’s been shrunken in wash. But he’s not. Instead, Eddie’s fucking transfixed at the sight of him, the cups of coffee completely forgotten in his hands.

The cotton is pulled taut over Richie’s broad shoulders and chest. The hem comes way too high, around his navel, exposing the trail of dark hair leading into his boxers, and it looks _ridiculous_. Too bad Eddie’s brain’s not getting that memo. He’s always found Richie’s soft stomach stupidly sexy, he knows that, and he’s not shy about it. But something about seeing it, the difference between their bodies clearly materialized, does things to Eddie. It’s too much at once, and Eddie feels like he’s on uneven ground.

His throat works, suddenly too dry, as he watches the way Richie’s big arms stretch the sleeves when he rubs at his face sleepily, unaware of the crisis Eddie is having right in front of him.

“Aww, for me?” Richie says and steps forward to take a cup from Eddie’s hand. He presses a kiss just into Eddie’s hairline. “Thanks babe.”

Eddie’s ears feel hot, which is _dumb_ , and heat is starting to pool low in his stomach, too. Richie’s in his space now, and he’s suddenly too aware of how tall Richie is, how he has to bend down and tilt Eddie’s head up a bit to plant another kiss on his cheek. His breath stinks, and usually Eddie would complain, but he doesn’t trust anything coherent to come out of his mouth.

“Eds?” Richie smiles lopsidedly, just a hint of actual concern behind it. “You okay?” He sets the cup he’s just acquired back onto the counter to lay his hands on Eddie’s arms. Eddie blinks, realizing how weird he’s being.

Shit, he needs to get a hold of himself.

“Yeah, fine, what the fuck”, he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too choked. He sets his own cup on the counter, runs his palms up Richie’s arms and wishes his face looks more annoyed than flustered. “Are you fucking trying to ruin my shirt, asshole?”

Richie looks down, almost surprised, when Eddie tugs at the hem and puts his coffee-warmed hands under the shirt.

“Oh shit, sorry”, Richie laughs, and kneads his thumbs into Eddie’s biceps, but his face says that he’s not sorry at all.

* * *

It keeps happening.

This time, Eddie is curled up on the couch, flicking through the channels aimlessly. Richie has been holed up in his office, working on his routine for hours now. As always with Richie’s brief but powerful surges of motivation, Eddie expects him to crawl out of his cave any minute now.

Eddie likes to think he’s mostly very independent and able to entertain himself, but he has to admit he’s never disappointed by his alone time coming to an end. A door closing down the hall signals that Richie has decided his brain has been wrung dry for the day. Eddie smiles and sets the remote down, because he knows the routine. Richie always seeks him out immediately, exhausted but usually pleased with himself, starving for physical contact and affection. Luckily, Eddie’s supply is not running out anytime soon.

As usual, Richie pads into the living room and wanders around the couch to block the tv. He absolutely knows that Eddie isn’t watching it, but his first instinct is always to do something slightly annoying. Eddie glares at him, as if it isn’t cancelled out immediately by the fondness he feels pinching at every cell in his body and surely bleeding over the lines of him. Richie’s wearing ugly sweat shorts and an old ratty t-shirt, but his feet are bare. Somehow, he always manages to be the best thing Eddie has ever seen.

Like the dramatic little shit he is, Richie flops down at the foot of the couch and pushes his head forcefully into Eddie’s lap. Eddie tangles his fingers into the mess of curls, and Richie makes a vaguely sexual noise when he strokes through his hair firmly, nails scraping against his scalp.

“Come up here, dickhead”, Eddie says when Richie reaches up to grope at his thighs. “You’re gonna fuck up your old man knees.”

Richie turns his head to smirk up at Eddie. “That’s not what you usually say.”

Eddie tugs at his hair a little too hard and Richie climbs up on the couch, half beside Eddie and half over him. Eddie brings up a hand again to brush back his curls.

“Jesus, you’re like a dog, I swear.”

Richie, disgustingly, licks his hand. Eddie yelps and _almost_ lightly slaps him in the chin.

“Fucking what”, he says and shoves Richie, who laughs and grabs Eddie’s wrists.

“The memory of that gentle touch is what gets me through the day, Eds!”

“I can’t fucking put up with this, I’m vetoing your rights for cuddles, are you fucking happy now, you-”

“Yeah, I am.”

Richie leans into him with what feels like his whole weight and Eddie’s forced to sink back until he’s practically horizontal, with only his right leg hanging off the edge of the couch. Then, strong but impossibly gentle, Richie wrestles his arms down to trap them against his sides. Eddie curses and wriggles, but it’s mostly out of habit.

Richie just kind of hovers over him until Eddie gives up, huffing and meeting his eyes. Richie’s gaze is painfully fond before he leans down for a kiss. Eddie gives a surprised little _mmph_ and angles his face up to meet Richie’s lips.

It’s nicer than about anything he’s ever done, Eddie thinks and licks into Richie’s mouth. Richie groans and his hips twitch where they’re slotted together perfectly. The kiss is slick and heated, too much too fast like they’re still trying to make up for lost time. Eddie’s stomach feels tight and he means to bring his hands to push at Richie’s chest, but he fucking _can’t_ , because Richie’s still holding his arms down against the cushions, he realizes. In fact, he can hardly move at all because Richie is all but crushing him with his weight.

It’s like an electric shock. Suddenly, the whole length of his body is flooded with heat. Eddie comes alive so quickly it’s embarrassing. He’s pretty sure his mouth goes kind of slack like he’s forgot they’re supposed to be kissing. He flexes his arms against Richie’s tight grip, but not too hard, because then Richie might actually _let go_ , and his entire system is sending out the same signal of _safe and good and heavy and perfect and right_. He’s all too conscious of how Richie’s body covers his almost entirely. _I could fucking drown in him,_ Eddie thinks, deliriously.

If Richie notices that Eddie has gone from zero to hundred in a second, he doesn’t give any indication. He just presses closer and breathes heavily into the kiss. Richie’s hips fit so well into the space between Eddie’s open thighs, and his weight is only pushing them wider apart. Their bare legs are rubbing against each other. Eddie gulps for air pathetically, he feels disoriented and near insane. He bucks wildly up against Richie, unable to stop himself. He hardly has enough sense left in him to consider what’s happening.

Finally, when Eddie moans shakily, Richie pulls away, face flushed and chest heaving. Eddie stares stupidly up at him. His whole body feels hot and tingly, and he realizes he’s trembling lightly. Also, he’s unreasonably hard.

Richie too seems somewhat surprised by the heatedness of their impromptu make out session.

“Shit, I didn’t know you miss me _this_ much when I’m working. Maybe I should like. Work more.”

Eddie wants to give a smart response in a final, sad attempt at distracting Richie from his temporary insanity, but his brain seems to have literally reset itself.

“What?” Richie smiles softly down at him, at last releasing Eddie’s arms to adjust his glasses. Eddie can feel the imprints of fingers on his skin like he’s been branded. He can’t bring himself to move a limb.

“I mean, I know I’m a professional lover and all”, Richie continues. “At least that’s what your mom always said. But like, seriously. What the fuck’s going on?”

More than anything, Richie seems concerned that a “your mom” joke hasn’t succeeded at riling Eddie up.

“I- Nothing”, says Eddie, like the world’s greatest liar. _Weird size fetish thing,_ his brain supplies, unhelpfully.

Richie squints, clearly doubtful. Eddie stares back at him as defiantly as he can. His heart is still pounding so wildly in his rib cage he’s surprised Richie isn’t hearing it. Thankfully, after careful consideration, Richie seemingly decides to let it go in favor of other, more pressing issues.

“Yeah, okay, you horny weirdo. You wanna, uh”, Richie gestures down at his crotch. He’s half-hard too, which makes Eddie feel a little better about himself. “You wanna take this to the bedroom?”

Eddie makes a valiant effort to collect himself. He gets up to lean back on his elbows and knees Richie’s hip lightly.

“Well, I’m not going to fucking do it on the couch.”

Richie’s smile tells Eddie he’s already forgetting that anything was weird in the first place. He heaves himself up from the couch and pulls Eddie’s legs over the edge, too. Soon enough Eddie is being dragged upright and in the direction of their bedroom.

Already, Eddie feels more in control of himself, but also strangely disappointed.

_No_ , he decides. This is stupid, not to mention deeply embarrassing. He’s going to have to try and behave like a normal fucking person. Richie would… _God_ , he doesn’t know what Richie would do, not really. Make fun of him, that’s for sure, and that’s enough knowledge for Eddie to make a firm decision to keep a lid on it.

Eddie’s a grown fucking man. He won’t be thinking about this shit again.

* * *

He thinks about it constantly. It’s mortifying.

He thinks constantly about how good Richie’s thick arms look in a t-shirt. He thinks constantly about how Richie feels like tucked behind him in bed, how he curls around Eddie completely and effortlessly. He thinks constantly about how Richie doesn’t mind when Eddie drapes himself over him when they’re watching movies on the couch, how Eddie’s weight on him doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

It goes on for nearly a week.

Eddie’s so high-strung and jittery he can barely take it. He’s sure he’s doing a phenomenally bad job at keeping his insane under wraps, because his breath keeps stuttering when Richie comes up behind him in the kitchen and seizes Eddie’s hips with his huge palms to keep him in place and press a kiss into his hair. Eddie swears he’s going to absolutely _lose it_ , he has maybe three normally functioning brain cells left, the rest can only focus on Richie and his _dumb fucking big body._

And in the bedroom, it’s even worse. Luckily, Richie has never complained about Eddie wanting sex or showing enthusiasm, so he doesn’t comment on Eddie’s unusual behavior. Still, Eddie strongly suspects that he’s noticed that Eddie’s fucking staring and blushing and stumbling over his words like he’s fifteen years old. And Richie’s never rough on purpose, he’s so careful and considerate of Eddie’s feelings it’s borderline infuriating. However, he has the habit of manhandling Eddie sometimes. Richie will throw him from one side of the bed to the other or pull Eddie on top of him to cuddle, playfully restraining him by wrapping his arms around him like a giant octopus. None of it is even meant to be _sexy_. Richie does it as a joke, probably just to be a little shit. But now it drives Eddie wild, and for a completely different reason than what Richie might think.

* * *

Eddie supposes it must come to a close at some point. It might even be good that it does, because the only other outcome Eddie can think of is him spontaneously combusting.

So. It’s Tuesday night, they’ve just eaten dinner and Eddie’s rinsing out the frying pan in the sink. Richie is piling up their plates and glasses noisily. His comedy routine is coming along well, and he’s been giddy all day, laughing loudly and brightly and peppering Eddie with kisses every time they’ve been in the same room. Eddie’s beyond happy for him, of course. He hates seeing how stressed Richie can get over writing. Richie’s not the most patient person and sitting down with a seemingly never-ending task doesn’t come naturally at all to him. So, whenever Richie exceeds his own expectations and makes process, Eddie makes sure to go out of his way to show just how proud of him he is. That usually entails food or sex or both.

Eddie’s not really a naturally talented cook, though he likes to believe he’s a decent one. He’s only started truly practicing since they’ve been living together, but he’s always been interested in making food, especially since discovering (re-discovering) that he’s not actually allergic to that many things. Richie, unsurprisingly, can easily succeed at burning down plain water, so he doesn’t complain when Eddie wants to test recipes and cook dinner at home instead of ordering takeout. To his credit, Richie has eaten enthusiastically right from the first few, near-disastrous, bland and lumpy imitations of dinner Eddie has managed to put together.

That being said, Eddie wouldn’t call himself an expert at sex, either, but Richie seems to think he’s doing great at both fields. They can be very complicated people, Eddie thinks, but between them, things are mostly very uncomplicated. And the things that aren’t, well, they’ve been both working very hard on the talent of open and honest communication.

Eddie’s thoughts are interrupted when Richie steps beside him, nudges him with his hip and starts loading the glasses into the dishwasher. Eddie has convinced him that the plates, at the least, need to be rinsed out before they go in.

“Thanks, babe”, Richie says. “Don’t get too good at that or we won’t fit into the same bed anymore.”

Eddie snorts. He _knows_ he’s at most decent at cooking, but he also suspects that Richie is being completely honest. He has this weird habit of seeing the best in Eddie.

Eddie nudges him right back. “One of us needs to know how to fucking use a stove.”

“Eds, you’re truly multitalented. A perfect housewife. What would I do without ironed sheets to sleep in?”

“Shut the fuck up, normal adults iron their sheets. It’s not my fault you never learned basic shit.”

Richie turns fully to him and takes the wet frying pan out of his hands. He’s conjured up a dishtowel from somewhere during the conversation, and he starts drying the pan with meticulous care, all the while smiling like an idiot.

“Eddie”, he says. “Let me tell you a secret.”

Eddie crosses his arms, waits while Richie puts the pan back into the cabinet. When he’s ready, Richie grabs hold of Eddie’s shoulders and looks down at him softly.

“No grown fucking man irons his sheets.”

Eddie makes a noise of annoyance and shrugs Richie’s hands off his shoulders. Richie giggles, fucking _giggles_ , and steps further into Eddie’s space.

“No, dude, but seriously. You know I appreciate the shit out of everything you do.”

Eddie does know. He has to smile when he in turn grasps Richie’s hands between his.

“I know. And I do it because I wanna do nice stuff for you. Because I love you, asshole.”

“I love you too.” Richie’s voice is low, fond but serious, like he wants to make sure Eddie believes this. It’s a quiet moment, and Eddie is sure that he loves Richie more and more every day, that it would be impossible to ever stop. God, how fucking sappy is that?

Eddie squeezes Richie’s hands where he’s holding them between them, peeks up at him in the artificial glow of the kitchen light and hopes _desperately_ that he knows exactly what Eddie’s thinking, because he will never have all the words he would need to explain it.

Richie looks right back like he _does_ know. Eddie never took the concept of mental communication between partners very seriously, mostly because, well. His history of relationships with any kind of communication is less than impressive. He has also always lacked the patience and the courage to figuratively meet anyone’s eyes, but now he thinks that might just be because he’s never tried that with the right person before.

Then Richie’s smiling, leaning in to kiss Eddie fully, twisting his hands free to cradle Eddie’s face instead. His thumbs start almost instinctively pressing soft circles just beside Eddie’s ears.

Richie’s mouth is insistent on his. They’ve learned to angle their faces so that Richie’s glasses don’t get knocked off. It still hits Eddie sometimes, that they have the chance, the _permission_ to learn those kinds of things about each other. And if the universe will continue to allow them this, Eddie swears he wants to learn every little thing he can about Richie.

Eddie brings his own hands to grasp Richie’s biceps. He loves how they’re soft but firm; Richie’s by no means a regular at the gym but could undoubtedly lift some furniture without breaking a sweat. _He could lift some other stuff too,_ Eddie thinks, then immediately wants to hit the brakes on that train of thought.

They’re pressing closer, the kiss turning from sweet to heated right by the kitchen counter. Eddie tries to remember if they’ve left any food at the table, or if it’s all in the fridge already. Dishes he can deal with later, but no matter how in love he is, he can’t move on to making out until he’s sure there aren’t any leftovers starting to grow bacteria in room temperature. Yeah, no. They’re probably good.

Eddie moves his hand to the nape of Richie’s neck, tugs at the curls just to hear Richie inhale sharply. Richie pulls back slightly just to breathe deep, resting his forehead against Eddie’s and still caressing his temples.

“Baby”, says Richie, like it’s something sacred.

Eddie hums and closes the distance between them again, kissing Richie slow and deep, relishing the scratch of stubble on his cheeks. It’s stupidly romantic, ridiculously joyful and awfully hot. Eddie nips lightly at Richie’s bottom lip and soothes the bite with his tongue. He presses his palms into Richie’s solid, heaving chest that’s radiating warmth through the fabric. A low noise escapes Richie’s throat at that, and Eddie massages the shirt-covered flesh to coax out more.

Richie’s left hand has tightened into Eddie’s short hair and Richie, probably subconsciously, tugs to angle his head back so that Richie is able to take charge. Richie kisses like he’s never wanted to do anything else, possessive and weirdly protective. Eddie’s stomach swoops. He presses his fingers harder into Richie’s chest to contain himself.

Then, suddenly, Richie is pressing them backwards, taking little steps to signal for Eddie to move without breaking the kiss. Eddie gets the message, blindly lets himself be led further into the kitchen, crowded against the counter. The granite digs into the small of his back, but he doesn’t really mind.

Eddie’s just thinking of pulling back, maybe dragging Richie to the bedroom by the collar of his shirt, when Richie’s hands are suddenly out of his hair. Instead, they grab at Eddie’s waist and before Eddie can even consider it, Richie lifts him up like it’s nothing and hauls him onto the counter.

Unprepared, Eddie’s reaction is instant and obvious. It’s like all the air has been punched out of him. He makes a noise like he’s choking, or possibly having a heart attack. His hands tear at the front of Richie’s shirt so hard the collar is definitely stretching. His thighs lock around Richie’s waist like a vice, trapping him between his legs. And sure enough, his dick hardens at a speed Eddie didn’t know it was capable of before this. There’s absolutely no way it’ll go unnoticed by Richie, who stands imprisoned, pressed tightly against Eddie’s crotch.

Speaking of which, Richie has stopped moving altogether, his hands still frozen at Eddie’s waist. Eddie can’t look at him. He keeps staring down at their laps, mortified and betrayed by his own body.

“Eds”, Richie says, tender but still out of breath. “Are you okay? Did I- Did I hurt you?”

Eddie’s head snaps up and he meets Richie’s concerned eyes.

“No”, he squeaks and wants to fucking die. His face is flaming. “I mean. Yes, I’m okay, I’m fine, it’s…”

He casts another, unintentional glance at Richie’s hands, which are _still on his fucking waist thank you and look just as big as they feel, covering so much of Eddie he hears his breath stutter again_. Richie follows his gaze down, to Eddie’s stomach, to Eddie’s lap, and inhales sharply, a little _oh_ of surprise and recognition.

It’s horrible. Eddie briefly contemplates throwing himself off the counter. And maybe the window.

“Eddie”, Richie’s voice is thin, and Eddie has no idea what’s on his mind. “Are you serious?”

Richie keeps one hand on his waist and lets the other one trail downwards, to the top of Eddie’s leg. Almost absentmindedly, He rubs his thumb across Eddie’s inner thigh, near enough his groin that he can’t help himself: his dick twitches almost painfully and he gasps an unsteady breath.

“Rich”, he sounds wrecked, and there’s no recovering from this.

“You _like_ this”, Richie says and squeezes both hands around Eddie’s waist again for emphasis. Eddie squirms but his legs flex involuntarily. “You really like this, right?”

Richie sounds sort of unbelieving, but there’s triumph starting to bleed into his voice.

“Is this- Do you have a thing for me carrying you around?”

Eddie glares at him. “Fuck you. If you’re going to make fun of me, I’m fucking leaving.”

“No!” Richie says, though he sounds like he wants to grin. “No, God, no, I swear. C’mon, Eddie. Please.”

Eddie exhales hard through his nose. “I fucking hate you”, he says and tries to meet Richie’s eyes. He wants to be properly angry, but he’s still too turned on. Realistically, he also knows that this isn’t Richie’s fault and being pissed at him isn’t going to help.

“It’s your fault”, he says anyway. “You fucking brought it up, that you’re so big and strong apparently, I swear you brainwashed me with your weird kink talk, and now- Now you fucking keep looking good with your big fucking shoulders and arms and doing shit like this to me. So, you have no right to complain because it’s one hundred percent your fault that I’m into it now.”

Richie’s watching him, eyes wide behind his glasses, kiss-pink mouth open.

“Is this about _that?_ ” he asks, dumbstruck. He looks like he’s going to say something else but pauses. “Wait. When we… At the living room. When we were on the couch and I was holding you down. You were _into that?_ ”

“Yeah”, Eddie almost whispers, because just the memory kind of makes his head spin.

“Jesus, Eddie, _Jesus_ ”, Richie murmurs and presses his thumbs into Eddie’s stomach. He still looks halfway thrilled, but the slight hitch in his words sends another message. He brings his face in close, breath hot on Eddie’s cheek. “I mean I’m definitely gonna tease you later about turning my romantic speech into a size kink thing, but right now I have to get you naked, Eddie, _shit,_ that’s so fucking _hot_.”

Eddie kisses him. He throws his arms around Richie’s shoulders and pulls him as close as physically possible. His heart is in his throat, he’s almost nauseous with how turned on he is. Richie’s hands are everywhere, trying to map the entirety of Eddie’s body in the light of this new information: Richie strokes his back in broad movements, rucks his jumper higher to touch the dimples above his ass, caresses the length of his thighs.

They break apart, short of breath and Richie gently rocks their hips together. They’re both hard now, so Eddie supposes he has to believe that Richie, too, is getting something out of it. This is proved further when Richie, seemingly unwilling to put too much distance between them, starts kissing his jawline sloppily.

“You’re fucking unreal”, he pants in between. “You know how fucking sexy that is? When you’re this into something? Because of me? Fucking _Christ_ , you’ll literally kill me.”

“Don’t oversell yourself”, Eddie quips, but it comes out breathy and desperate. “Could’ve been some other middle-aged dude with freakish big limbs. You just - ah, _fuck_ – happened to be there when I decided I like dick.”

Richie snickers into Eddie’s throat, delighted as always when Eddie ribs at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks and continues down Eddie’s neck, scraping his teeth against the skin.

Eddie shudders and strokes Richie’s back. “ _Because_ I was fucking embarrassed, you dick. I’m like, old, I can’t handle having weird kinks at this age.”

Richie pauses and meets Eddie’s eyes.

“ _We’re_ old”, he says with a half-smile. “That doesn’t mean anything, you’re allowed to have weird kinks. And I swear I’m only gonna make fun of you a little for them. So, if you wanna like, invite Bill over to watch from the closet dressed as Santa when we bang- “

Eddie knees him in the ribs.

Richie laughs again, sharp, but holds Eddie’s gaze insistently.

“But seriously, I want you to tell me what you like”, he says, eyes darkening a little. “You don’t know what that does to me, when you say what you want, or, uh, tell me what I can do to you, that’s so incredibly fucking hot.”

Eddie’s stomach lurches at that.

“Oh, fuck, okay”, he says and Richie leans in again to suck a bruise right above his collarbone. He reaches up to tangle a hand into Richie’s hair, encourage him to continue.

But it seems like Richie’s encouraged enough as it is by Eddie’s confessions, because as soon as Eddie’s getting a familiar hold on the back of his neck, Richie reaches up, too, so suddenly that Eddie flinches. But then Richie’s grabbing hold of his wrist, bringing it down to his lap along with his other hand. Richie doesn’t even pause as he closes one oversized palm over both Eddie’s wrists, effectively restraining his hands between them. As if that’s something he does all the time.

Eddie’s surprise quickly gives way to a wave of shocked arousal. He twists his hands in Richie’s grip a little bit, but Richie doesn’t relent – _thank God_ – if anything, he tightens his hold, and Eddie can’t help but moan. Apparently satisfied with the positive feedback, Richie continues kissing and biting at Eddie’s neck without hesitation, bringing a hand to support his head.

“Tell me”, Richie murmurs in between kisses. “Please, Eds, talk to me, I want to hear it.”

“What- uh- what should I say?” Eddie asks breathlessly, a little embarrassed at the concept of describing his fantasies in detail.

“Just tell me what you want me to do, Eds, how do I make you feel good.”

“Oh, shit, Richie”, Eddie whines and bucks his hips to get more friction. “I want you to- to hold me down like this, put your hands on me and fucking hold me down, make me take it, I don’t know.”

Richie’s reaction is instantaneous and forceful. He growls and yanks Eddie’s head back further to expose his throat and pushes closer like he’s hungry for him, mouth hot and wet on his sensitive skin.

Seeing how much it affects Richie encourages Eddie to continue. “You’re so fucking big all over, I love it”, he gasps, not sure if he’d be able to get the words out of his mouth if he wasn’t blind with arousal. “Your hands, fuck, love how you hold me, _Rich_ , take me to bed now, I need you to fuck me right fucking now-”

Richie’s grip on his wrists tightens before he lets go entirely and he’s pulling Eddie off the counter, seemingly unable to keep his hands to himself.

“Yeah, wanna fuck you so bad, Eds, I’m going fucking crazy”, he says, stumbling backwards, hands tight on Eddie’s waist. “I love you so much.” Somehow, he manages to sound like he’s both horny and on the verge of tears.  
  


They guide each other towards the bedroom, not willing to part even to look at where they’re going, kissing and grossly panting into each other’s mouths.

Eddie feels behind him for the bedroom doorway, lets Richie push him inside and pulls away briefly to pause, to really look at him.

Richie is flushed down to his neck, breathing hard and gaping at Eddie in amazement. Eddie stares right back, trying to catch his breath. _Oh,_ he thinks, not for the first time and probably not for the last, _someone wants me like that._

“What do you want? Right now?” Richie asks, voice wrecked, like he’s begging for permission, waiting for the green light. “I’ll do anything.”

“Right now, I want you to get me on the that bed and hold me down”, Eddie says, gaining confidence, and Richie’s hands flex on his hips helplessly. “Then I want you to fuck me. Yeah, you’re gonna use me and take what you want and fuck me hard.”

Eddie knows that he’s blushing as he says it, but Richie fucking _whines,_ and it makes up for any lingering embarrassment Eddie might have over wanting this so much, letting himself have it.

“Oh shit, _Eddie_ ”, Richie breathes, high-pitched and desperate. “Yeah, I can do that, definitely.”

Then his hands are on Eddie again, steering them towards the bed until Eddie’s thighs collide with the edge and he has to sit down on the mattress. Eddie peers up at Richie as he pushes between his legs, leans over him and immediately starts tugging at the hem of his jumper. Just as enthusiastic, Eddie lifts his arms and allows it to be pulled over his head along with the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. Richie leans down to kiss him again, reaching for Eddie’s bare chest to stroke little circles with his thumbs. Eddie hums under his breath and opens his mouth against Richie’s, though he’s eager to get Richie naked as quickly as possible, too. He signals this by putting his own hands under Richie’s soft sweatshirt, where he’s warm and quivering.

Richie gets the memo, and they break the kiss to let him strip. The sweatshirt is thrown somewhere behind them, but Eddie doesn’t care. Instantly, he hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Richie’s jeans to tug him closer.

“I’ll do it”, Richie says and swats Eddie’s hands away gently. He kneels down to pop the button of Eddie’s jeans and pull down the zipper. Then he slaps Eddie’s thigh. “Up.”

Eddie lifts his ass to let Richie pull off his jeans and socks, then reach for his boxers, which are tenting noticeably and already damp at the front. Those Richie pulls off with more purpose, and Eddie holds his breath as Richie’s fingers dance closer to his crotch. When Richie peels the boxers down, Eddie lifts up without being asked, shivering and hypnotized by Richie’s sure, strong hands. As soon as Eddie’s aching dick bobs against his stomach, Richie’s gaze zeroes in on it.

“Baby”, he says, tender. “You’re so wet.”

It’s true. Eddie’s been ridiculously turned on for a while now and his dick is red and shiny with pre-cum.

“Rich”, he gasps and swallows down his creeping embarrassment. “Please.”

Richie stands up and starts tugging on his own jeans. “Get on the bed”, he says, but not forcefully. “On your stomach, spread your legs, let me see you.”

Eddie swallows and it sounds like thunder in his ears. He turns his back to Richie, a little sorry that he doesn’t get to strip him, and crawls further on the bed on shaky knees.

Before laying down, Eddie stuffs a pillow under his hips to give Richie better access. He knows he’s soaking the cotton already, knows he should have a towel or something underneath, but he feels like disturbing this could literally kill him.

He hears Richie discarding his jeans, then feels the bed dip under his weight as he kneels behind Eddie but doesn’t touch him right away.

“Oh fuck, Eddie”, he whispers. “You’re fucking beautiful, I can’t stand it. I want to do this well.”

Eddie twists his neck to look at him. Richie’s as hard as he is, and he’s left his glasses on as he does most of the time. “Rich, you always do well, you’re always so good. I swear, it’ll feel good. Already does.” He wriggles his hips for emphasis.

Richie crawls over him and kisses his neck. “But if you don’t like something, tell me-”

“I’ll like it.”

“-tell me to stop.”

Eddie hums in agreement and pushes his ass back against Richie, who gasps like he’s in pain, like it’s the first time Eddie’s ever touched him.

“Now if you’ll kindly fuck me, before I-”

Complaint cut short, Eddie yelps as Richie suddenly bites at his neck harder than he’s done all night. Apparently, that was all the reassurance he needed.

“I will”, Richie says and licks over the tender skin. “I’ll fuck you deep and good like you want, and you’ll take it so well, ‘cause you always do.”

And it’s not like Richie _never_ says stuff like this, but the fact that the next thing Eddie knows is that Richie’s weight is settled over him and his hands are pinning Eddie’s wrists onto the mattress beside his head makes this moment pretty fucking special.

Eddie groans, half-muffled by the sheets. He grinds against Richie again, though Richie’s heavy on him and the movement is very limited. Eddie’s whole body is buzzing, and he feels hyperaware of every inch of skin that’s being touched by Richie.

Richie rocks his hips like he’s fucking him, and his cock slides along the cleft of Eddie’s ass. It’s warm and familiar. The movement smears pre-cum everywhere, leaves it sticky and cooling on his skin. Richie is panting hard above him, presumably both from arousal and the attempt to maintain his self-control.

Eddie, to be truthful, is fighting the same fight. He _wants_ to let Richie do this, because he knows that Richie will do it well, but Eddie’s not always patient, which means that more often than not he’s setting the pace. Now he flexes his fingers against the sheets and grinds his teeth and tries to let himself just _feel_.

And it does feel good. Soon enough, Richie releases Eddie’s left wrist, murmurs “stay there”, and brings a hand to spread his cheeks apart. Almost soothingly, Richie thumbs at his rim, rubbing the slickness all over it, trying to ease him into the feeling.

Then Richie guides his cock in the space he’s created, rubs it over his hole again and again, purposeful but impossibly slow. Eddie’s breath stutters, he feels hot and exposed, and Richie’s carefulness only heightens the sensation.

“That good?” Richie asks, voice rough.

“ _Fuck_ ”, Eddie hisses when Richie’s cock catches on his rim. “ _Uhh_ , yeah, fucking good.”

“Tell me you like it, Eddie, talk to me.”

“I like it so much”, Eddie gasps out, overcome with the need to let Richie know how _great_ he is. “I don’t know why, I like everything you do, always. You’re the only one that knows me.”

Richie’s breath shakes at that, and his grip on Eddie’s wrist tightens. “ _God_ , that’s- I’m yours, too, you know that, right?”

“I do”, Eddie agrees and feels like he’s having two conversations.

Richie manages a couple more thrusts, then takes his hands off Eddie and kneels up completely. “Gotta fuck you soon, or I’ll fucking come on your back or something.”

“Don’t you dare”, Eddie says and cranes his neck to glare at him but doesn’t move otherwise. His hands stay pressed right where Richie left them.

Richie has already retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer and smiles softly at Eddie’s furrow-browed expression. He shuffles behind Eddie again and soothes a hand down his thigh before snapping the cap open and squeezing a sizeable glob onto his fingers.

Eddie huffs and presses his face back into the mattress as Richie spreads him again, kissing his sweaty, disgusting lower back.

“Fuck, oh, yeah”, Eddie sighs when Richie massages his rim with a slick finger before pressing firmly inside. It sinks in easily and Richie works it down to the third knuckle, then drags it in and out languidly, planting another kiss on Eddie’s ass.

“ _Rich,_ I told you to fuck me hard, come on”, Eddie moans. He feels good, usually likes being fingered, but he’s still impatient and keyed up, in dire _need_ to be encompassed by this, to have Richie on and in him as soon as possible.

“We’re getting there”, Richie says, getting in another finger. “I want to do this all the time, Eds, you look so good.”

Richie works in a third finger, and okay, yeah, Eddie feels that. It’s so good to be filled up, though Eddie suspects that half of it is just that it’s _Richie_. Richie, who always listens to him and wants him to feel good, who does stuff like _fingering_ like it’s the most romantic thing in the world.

“Oh, shit”, Eddie says when Richie pumps his fingers faster, causing lube to dribble out on the insides of Eddie’s thighs. His thumb teases the stretched rim at every stroke, and Eddie grinds his cock a little bit against the pillow, though he’s afraid that he’ll come before he wants to.

“Look at you”, Richie groans. “You open up so well, fuck, you’re perfect.”

Eddie makes a sound and tries to rock onto Richie’s fingers properly, but Richie presses his arm firmly down on Eddie’s lower back, preventing any movement. He doesn’t slow down at all, stroking Eddie deep over and over. Just like that, Eddie’s ready to lose his mind again.

“No, babe, I’ll do the work, I’ll take care of you”, Richie says and mouths at Eddie’s ass soothingly when Eddie makes a noise like a sob and his fingers tighten on the sheets. Holy shit, holy fuck, he’ll _die_ , he’s sure of it now.

“Richie, put your – _ah_ – put your dick in me right now, I can’t take it, stop.”

“Yeah?”

“Fucking _yeah_.”

Richie pulls out his fingers with a loud squelch and Eddie chokes out a sound, his whole body jerking. He feels wet and stretched out, pulled taut and sensitive. It’s also immediately somewhat lonely, though now Richie stays between his legs, breathing hard and radiating body heat. Eddie hears Richie fumble with the lube again but tries to focus on evening out his breathing and maintaining at least some control over himself.

“Rich, come _on_ ”, he whines. “Fuck me, I’m about to die, I need you in me fucking bad.”

“You do”, Richie agrees, sounding mesmerized. “I wouldn’t let you die from a lack of dick.”

Eddie aims for an annoyed huff, but it comes out mostly breathy. “I’m not joking, get in me before I commit a crime.”

“Nothing like a little danger to get me going”, says Richie, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.

Then Richie’s putting a hand on Eddie’s hip to hold him in place and nudging his cock against Eddie’s rim. He slides in easy and slow, shaping Eddie’s body around him, like they’re two pieces made to fit together. Eddie moans, deep and pleased.

“Fuuu- _uuuck,_ yes, that’s perfect.”

“Shit, oh, _Eds_ ”, Richie gasps and his body trembles against Eddie’s.

There’s really nothing like it. Even with his very limited experience with dicks, Eddie knows that Richie’s kind of _big_. Richie, familiar with Eddie’s neuroses, had assured him that he would be perfectly happy in a relationship which didn’t involve him sticking his dick into anything, ever, pretty much from the moment he first got his pants off. And while Eddie enjoyed everything they did together, he had promptly refused to let himself be intimidated by a penis. If he didn’t like something, he’d absolutely let Richie know.

Turns out, it’s something he _really_ likes. And for something Richie insists he’d never expect Eddie to do with him, he sure enjoys it too. The first time had honestly felt like a bigger step for Richie, since he’d spent a considerable amount of time visibly fighting back tears instead of actually fucking Eddie.

It’s still a bit overwhelming for both of them. Richie’s breathing has gone shallow and shaky and the sheets under Eddie are damp with sweat. Richie is warm and comforting inside him, and Eddie feels filled to the brim, like he could come apart, break open if he felt any more.

“Okay?” Richie pants into his shoulder.

“Yeah”, Eddie says and screws his eyes shut. “You feel amazing, fill me up so good, please, come on.”

With that, Richie molds himself over Eddie’s back again, presses his hands on Eddie’s wrists, and the solid weight of him is better than anything Eddie can imagine. Richie shifts around to find the easiest position and pulls nearly all the way out to drive his cock back in. Eddie almost sobs.

It’s fucking unfair how well Richie fucks him. Eddie feels raw and sensitive, like being held down makes everything sharper.

“Rich, fuck, _fuck_!” Eddie’s thighs are burning already, muscles straining with the effort. “Oh, can you go a little harder, please?”

Richie does, grinds his hips, fucks into Eddie’s pulled-tight body so that it burns just a little. Eddie claws at the sheets, clenches around Richie’s cock helplessly, unable to do much else.

The angle isn’t the easiest, so Richie’s brushing against his prostate only on every other stroke, and Eddie probably couldn’t come like this, but even just Richie filling him up repeatedly is so good that he doesn’t really mind. With the added pleasure of being restrained, he’s burning with it, ready to do this forever.

“Yeah, fuck, like that. Love how you fuck me, why are you so good? Feels incredible, _Rich-_ ”

“Shit, you too, you take me so well, always want it so much.”

“It’s _you,_ Richie, of course I do”, Eddie says. Sweat is burning his eyes now, he swears he feels Richie throbbing inside him clearer than he ever has. He’s never felt this connected to anyone, and he knows Richie knows it too.

“God, I wish I could kiss you right now”, Richie says. It sounds thick with emotion and Eddie wants to give him comfort, even if he doesn’t really need it.

“Yeah”, he says, voice rough, and tries to flex his fingers against Richie’s a bit where they’re pressed between his knuckles.

Suddenly, Richie slows down, rocks into him deep and deliberate. The change of pace throws Eddie off. He tenses against Richie, disoriented and seeking the previous sensation. “ _Richie,_ I swear-”

“Shh, relax”, Richie says. “We’re getting there.”

Eddie moans, half-aroused and half-frustrated, and tries to focus on the slow drag of Richie’s cock in and out of him, the impossible stretch of Eddie’s body around it. It’s nice, but in a torturous way, pleasure distant and lazy. Richie takes him apart like that for a while, filling him completely, and Eddie breathes through it, breathes until his head feels light and he’s trembling all over.

“ _Shit_ , you’re hot, a fucking dream, you know that?” Richie says eventually and his fingers tighten on Eddie’s wrists. “You’ve been so good, baby, now I’m gonna take what I want, alright?”

“Right”, Eddie says, voice cracking at the end. He realizes he’s forgotten about talking for a while.

“I’m not gonna last that long”, Richie tells him. He fucks into Eddie harder again, testily. The hazy pleasure gives way to sharp arousal immediately. “Also, my arms are starting to get sore.”

“ _Oh_ , my God”, Eddie groans as Richie picks up the pace. They’ve been at it long enough now that Eddie’s aching and oversensitive, painfully aware of his cock twitching against his belly. He’s more than ready to come, though he knows the friction of the sheets isn’t quite enough, knows he’ll have to wait for Richie to go first. “That’s good, fuck, fuck, Richie! You know what you could do? Could – _ah_ – fucking pick me up and fuck me against the wall, I’d love that.”

Richie’s rhythm stutters as he chokes out a laugh. “I mean, you’re pretty light but I’m not sure if I’m that ripped. _God_ , that’d be hot, though.” He moans throatily. “ _Shit_ , I’m close. What if I dropped you? You’d murder me.”

“I thought you wanted our sex life to be dangerous”, Eddie says, breathless. Richie’s not going that deep now, his thrusts are careless and sloppy, clearly nearing his orgasm. Eddie clenches around him again, loving the shape of Richie in him, the tight fit with barely room for breathing.

Richie comes with a short, broken moan. He fucks Eddie through it, repeating Eddie’s name, which only brings him closer to his own release.

By the time Richie slows down, Eddie’s drunk on it, the feeling of warm come filling him, Richie’s dick twitching weakly inside him. " _Uhh,_ Rich, make me come, please, fuck.”

“I’ve got you”, Richie says and lifts off of Eddie carefully, without pulling out, drags his hips up to reach for his cock, then wraps a big, sweat-slick hand around him.

It only takes a few tugs until Eddie comes too, gasping for breath against the sheets. He’s clamping around Richie so tightly it must be bordering on painful, but Richie just rubs circles on Eddie’s hip with his other hand, strokes his cock until Eddie’s completely drained.

Eddie’s whole body aches when Richie pulls out but doesn’t move away, stays kneeling behind him, pressing open-mouthed kisses over his backside. Exhausted, Eddie remains slumped forward on his face and knees, little, ragged breaths ripped from his throat. His head is ringing, he feels like he might not be able to get up anymore, possibly ever. Come is already leaking out of him, and the feeling is almost always worth the cleanup.

Richie, still pressed up close to him, brings a hand to scoop up some from between Eddie’s cheeks, pushes it back into Eddie’s stretched-out hole with two thick fingers. Eddie shudders, whines, sounds pathetic, but doesn’t protest.

“ _Richie,_ oh, fuck, that’s- _Oh,_ I can’t-”

Richie fingers him sloppily, fucks as much of his own come back into him as possible, murmuring praise against his back. It’s disgusting but embarrassingly good, the pressure on his now oversensitive prostate _too fucking much_. Richie doesn’t relent though, not until Eddie’s choking out sobs, actual tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, thighs shaking so violently he can’t hold himself up anymore.

Finally, Richie seems to take pity on him, pulls out and lays him down. Eddie ends up sprawled half on his stomach, half on his side. The sheets are fucking gross and damp and definitely need to be changed, but right now Eddie’s too worn out, too sore, too content as a result of his earth-shattering orgasm to mind that much.

Distantly, he registers Richie wiping up most of the mess on something that could be a shirt or a pillowcase, supposedly taking advantage of Eddie not having the mental or physical capacity to insist on using wet wipes. Groaning, Richie flops down beside him, draping an arm around Eddie’s stomach.

“Aw, did I wear you out?”

Eddie rolls fully onto his side. “You fucking asshole”, he says and kisses Richie on the jaw, runs his knuckles over his soft chest. “You’re amazing, that was amazing, you’re too fucking good to me.”

Richie’s smile is full of affection. “It’s what you deserve”, he says, meets Eddie in a proper kiss. “Not like I was suffering, either.”

Eddie huffs a tired laugh, and Richie wipes away the wetness from his lower lashes. Richie looks somewhat emotional himself; he cries nearly every time Eddie does, which is sweet, but the thought of it extending to sex-related crying is a bit funny.

“I love you so much it’s insane.”

“Love you too. My big, strong man.”

Richie grins, always looks bright and taken aback, as if he doesn’t know this. “Seriously, though. Was it what you wanted?”

Eddie reaches up to pull on Richie’s sweaty hair, kisses him again, lazy and lingering. “Yes, _seriously_. I don’t have the energy to have a conversation right now, just. Hold me for a bit. And if I’m permanently paralyzed it’s your fault and you have to carry me to the bathroom.”

Richie laughs and tangles his legs with Eddie’s, presses his mouth behind his ear. “ _I_ did all the work, dickhead, you should be carrying me.”

Eddie’s too tired to argue, so he laces their fingers together and lets himself drift off to the sound of Richie’s breathing, the heat of his body. After a week of slow derail into insanity, it’s pretty nice. Which, yeah, communication and all that. It’s probably something to keep in mind in the future.


End file.
